


Regina

by HerenorThereNearnorFar



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Backstory, Don't Underestimate The Murder Babies, Fun 'n Games 'n Emotional Manipulation of a Minor, Gen, Honestly If Toffee Has One Problem It's That He Can't Take Butterfly Kids Seriously, It's Hard When You Knew Their Great Grandmother, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8647609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerenorThereNearnorFar/pseuds/HerenorThereNearnorFar
Summary: There isn't any good way to sabotage a dynasty of overpowered magical teenage girls, but he's not going to let that stop him from trying.(He's gotten rather good at it, after all.)





	

 

It was natural that after **Her** , no other could compare.

Those who took the throne in the years after the darkness were brash, thoughtless, and about as aware of the power they wielded as the ant was aware of the scale of the universe itself. They moved gracelessly through the world, not knowing their own strength, all but blind to the not so distant past.

(Their guardians made sure of that. No need for a repeat of past mistakes, not when the scars were so fresh. Better a slightly ill-tempered puppet than a potentially dangerous player.)

Of course even a mindless girl-queen equipped with power of the Wand was... _formidable_. Martial resistance only invited retribution, and that was always swift and merciless. The Butterflys had not risen to power through inaction or weakness of heart. Heart was all they had, but heart was all they needed with the Wand in hand.

So he waited and he watched.

Child after child took up the family mantle, sometimes helped along by a bit of prodding. A rebellion here, an assassination there, a very ill advised match or a well engineered feud. Anything to make an opening, to put the wand in less than capable hands.

They did not break. Not enough, not nearly enough. There was the occasional tantrum or youthful rebellion, but none that truly threatened the fabric of the dynasty, and nothing that was not quickly and quietly hushed up behind castle walls.

He learned patience well, in the first few generations.   


 

 

Eventually, discipline faltered. Just… not quite enough.

(At nineteen Solaria Queen of Mewni had seemed a like a soft target. Poor in family, mostly unguided, left alone to her own devices behind castle walls, a fearful girl by all accounts. Her parents’ murder so shortly after she took the Wand had traumatized her, it was said, and she locked herself away and became devoted to her studies.)

(The rumours sadly neglected to mention that said “studies” were mostly sword related. Entirely sword related, as a matter of fact, with a minor in paranoia and spotting surprise attacks.)

(You lived and you learned, as they said. Or, at least, _he_ lived.)

 

 

Retreat, observation, careful, thoughtful action. A few exploratory ambushes, just to keep the mind sharp.

Watching and waiting and researching made the days blur together, daydreams of revenge added spice to life but did nothing for the mental state. He’d discovered was something soul crushing about watching everyone you know die every hundred years. Doing nothing, being nothing but an _observer_ as each baby Butterfly with magic kissed cheeks and wide empty eyes grew up and ascended to godhood, was torture on par with those long forgotten torments of Her own design.

Perhaps solely for the sake of his sanity, did the universe give him an opening, a pair of eyes that were a little less empty. A treasure far rarer than gold, a Butterfly with a sense of _curiosity_.

(Her name had been Celena, and she’d had a hunger in her that he had not seen in centuries. Not for power, sadly, but for knowledge. He had hoped in vain that one was close enough to the other.)

(Seekers of knowledge were often unfairly represented as out of touch, academic milksops. She had been anything but. A cunning ruler, a subtle user of magic, and just a little too interested in the deeper workings of the universe. A storm of destructive potential hidden behind an inquisitive smile.)

(At the end of the day, even she disappointed. Not even the promise of knowledge untold could tempt her into destroying the Wand. It seemed that, if nothing else, the powers on the throne were damnably good at instilling a sense of dynastic preservation into their malleable little heirs.)

He learned from his mistakes, no one could say otherwise. Each defeat taught a lesson, in subtlety, in professionalism, in graceful retreats. Crash courses on paying attention, reading the situation, and never ever relying solely on others, administered regularly in case he even thinks about forgetting.

There were four simple truths.

One: Armies failed. Small groups were better.

Two: Getting too invested- in people, plans, or personas- never ended well

Three: Telling the truth was vastly overrated.

Four: Appealing to sanity, morality, or even curiosity was utterly futile when the appealee wore magic on each cheek and had a head full of mewian propaganda.

The four principles of the Universe, or at least that portion of it occupied by anyone with 'Butterfly' stamped on their face and inconceivable cosmic power.

Despite all that, he still couldn’t help but hope, with Moon. She had seemed like the solution he’d been waiting for, what all of his work - years spent toiling against a regime that seemed untopplable- had been leading up to.

Scared, young, a little too trusting, determined to do her best and with no clue what that actually meant. A disaster waiting to happen.

In other words, absolutely perfect.  


 

 

Experience taught him that it always paid to make sure everyone else thinks listening to you is _their_ idea. So he nudged things along ever so carefully. Rumours here and there, a book switched out in the royal library, stories whispered about a traveler of the universe with knowledge unmatched by any other. Monsters had a bad reputation in Mewni, but _foreigners_ were almost accepted. Not their fault they looked a bit monstrous, after all.

(The hypocrisy stopped astounding him a long time ago. Mewmans, monsters, everyone loved their little contradictions.)

He set up shop in a suitably mysterious cave and dealt tactfully with the peasants who come looking for true love or advice on the best time to plant carronips while trying to work in a story about Queens of old in whenever he could. He couldn't overemphasize the importance of networking. 

It took longer than he originally expected for a princess to wander his way, but in good time, _she_ did. Chin up, arrogance and bluster on the low side for a Butterfly but still there, lurking underneath the surface. A dismissive sort of manner about her, one that stretched thin at the seams. Barely chest height, not yet done growing, skirts that fluffed and petticoats that ruffled, round cheeks marked with diamonds too big for her face. Just a child, really. A haughty child.

Did she really think he didn’t notice she’d come alone, at night? Butterfly pride would be death of them all, if he was lucky.

“My queen,” he said and stood, bowed, kept his eyes trained on the floor. Anything to keep from staring. Much as with baby warnicorns, you had to be careful not to startle a Butterfly.

“I’m not queen,” the princess corrected, nicety and nervousness blending into something strained and a little too soft. “Not yet.”

Now that was something.

“My apologies,” he said, “I haven’t been in this dimension very long. You are the princess, then?”

A silent nod. She still hadn’t moved from the entrance, her arms were folded behind her back, and she sung of magic. She had the Wand on her. Maybe not in hand, but close to it. Very interesting, considering that all reports had the princess still six months shy of fourteen.

He tried to smile reassuringly. “I… must admit, I’m not used to being visited by royalty. Please, sit down. Can I get you anything to drink? I could put a kettle on for tea.”

“I like tea,” she said, because of course she did. Royalty across the universe held that you couldn’t improve upon an already perfect formula. Tea, shimmering silk, lots of frills, viola! Identical little princesses spread across the galaxy. “But, I have to decline,” the princess corrected herself, eyes a little crossed like she was having some deep internal debate. “I just came to… to ask a few questions. If you don’t mind.”

“Ask away, your highness. Anything, for a member of such an _ancient_ family.”

The little smile creasing up her baby round face was worried, but proud as well. Family honor really get get drilled in early.

He’d see what he could do about that.  
  
  


 

He ended up making the tea. Even princess-ly demurrals grew weak on a cold autumn night.

The girl hid her disgust at the bitter taste of swamp herbs quite well, and finished the whole mug, though not, he noted, without watching him take a sip first _and_ placing a subtle spell on the cup. A careful one then. He hadn’t expected any different. Rumours about assassination attempts were numerous and creative enough to border on the ridiculous, but there were enough of them to make him suspect a pearl of truth hid within.

When the awkward silence had worn deathly thin, he spoke up.

“You know, I think I knew why I misidentified you earlier, your highness. You remind of a queen of Mewni I once heard about. A queen who inherited tragically young, I’m afraid, but served her country well and brought joy and peace to the land. You have the same sort of face, about the chin.”

Her quirked half smile at that was marred by caution, but she clearly took the compliment well. “Really?”

“I rarely lie to royalty,” he lied.

“I heard you know things, about this place. My family.”

“I’ve visited Mewni before,” he told her, “Over the centuries. Your ancestors were hard to ignore.”

“How long have you been alive?” she asked, a little wary. Immortals were not trusted by most people. A good, solid life span of a dozen decades or so was considered most decent. Those who lived longer tended to grow powerful, and therefore dangerous.

Fortunately the Butterflys had a long history with immortals. One, in particular. They couldn’t afford to be bigoted on _that_ specific front.

He rounded up, just to impress. “A few thousand years. You lose track, after a while. Most of that time was spent elsewhere but Mewni is a beautiful place to visit once in a while.”

Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers laced together and then curled in until her hands looked like a knot. “Did- did you know any of them?”

Unnecessary lies just made more trouble down the line. The balance between truth and artifice was a delicate one, but when he doubt he tended to veer towards vague veracity. “I met one or two. What I saw the most was the impact they had on people. How their rule was received, by the populace.”

“Oh.”

He stood, stepping towards the fire. “Of course, if you want a history lesson, I’m sure your tutors could deliver a better one. My observations would be of little use to a princess.”

The princess Moon glanced up at him, startled. “You’re lying. I thought you said you didn’t lie,” she said bluntly, then corrected more politely “I mean, I think you don’t think what you have to say is useless.”

Though momentarily nonplussed by the sudden display of unexpected competence from the girl, he recovered quickly. “Your highness has exceptional insight. It’s true, over the years I have heard many stories and seen many things, watched dynasties rise and fall. Some of it might be of use to you. But I don’t want to overstep my boundaries, or interfere with what your other teachers are instructing your highness in.”

“What my other teachers are teaching isn’t enough,” she said, with a steely determination that would have seemed out of place in any other young girl’s demeanor. On a Butterfly, it fit like a glove. “And the library is… limited. I heard you knew about my family, and so I came to learn. I appreciate the respect shown but I don’t want to be coddled.”

She hesitated. “You can refuse, if you wish. But if you help me loyally, I can make sure you’re compensated.”

“None of that is needed.” he said smoothly. “Serving your family is it’s own reward.”

The princess flattened her skirts, which were beginning to poof out of control, and gave him a tight smile. “Wonderful.”

“Would your highness like to hear some of my stories now, or are you expected back at the castle? I can’t imagine your parents would be happy to find their daughter in a cave.”

“Nobody will miss me there, they think I’m asleep,” she said, cavalier in the face of royal displeasure in the way only other royalty could afford to be. “Could you tell me about the queen you mentioned before, the young one? Was she Queen Soleil?”

He hid his recoil at the name, and shook his head. It would be better to stick with figures of legend for now, instead of those who still breathed in his memories. “Your highness knows her history, but no. This was some other one, I think. Long before my time, but one hears stories.”

“Tell them to me, please.”

He’d hoped for a summons or a one time consultation, perhaps from her mother or young aunt. A way to worm in, without alerting any of the fussier elements of the Mewni court who might recognize him. This- the crown princess scared and looking for advice- had been the best case scenario. 

It was a testament to how far they'd come, he and the crown, that he could predict the actions of some faceless royal child so effortlessly. He allowed himself a moment of pride, and a measure of optimism that this time, he would succeed. 

“Certainly. I should bank up the fire first, though. The night is cold.”

She didn’t pull out the wand and offer to help, but they’d work up to that. He had time. One could make the argument that time was all he had.  


 

 

“My mother is more sick,” Moon said, as she watched him struggle to remember what exactly mewmans thought cured toenail fungus. It was possible he should have picked a slightly less demanding cover job. The wise hermit, while effective, was terribly untidy by nature and rather work intensive. He missed the days when he didn’t actively care about herb lore. 

“Yes, I had heard the queen was rather… unwell.” he said carefully, aware that the young princess had an occasional knack for picking up on artifice. Courtly language that ran circles around the uninitiated failed with Moon, she was simply too used to it. Flat out lies worked much better, the girl was dangerously trusting. “I do hope she recovers soon.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “She won’t. She won’t get better. Ever.”  
  
He settled on a tincture of dragonfly wings that, if nothing else, looked fairly magical, and hoped it would do the trick. Mewmans were so tiresome. “Really? I thought the Royal Family of Mewni had more powerful magic than that. Surely you can do _something_.”

The princess shook her head. “No. They can’t. Glos- everyone says so.”

“Sounds very serious then.”

“She was poisoned,” Moon added, watching him closely. “When she wasn’t much older than me. The giants wanted to revolt, and they thought killing the princess would do it.  But she lived, even though everyone thought she wouldn’t. She lived and had me.”

“Impressive.” he said mildly. “You are quite the miracle child, aren’t you?”

“That’s why I have to study, that’s why I have to learn. She just keeps getting worse and worse, and when she dies I’ll be queen. I want to be a good one.”

A pinch of shimmering wings, some unidentifiable green goop, mixed up with a basic disinfectant from a more civilized dimension. Function _and_ the magical sparkle mewmans expected. “You seem to be working up to a point here, your highness. You don’t need to dance around the subject.”

She was a sweet enough child, for a Butterfly. Rudeness didn’t come naturally to her. Even with that extra encouragement, she still hesitated before saying, “I do have a time limit here. There's only so long before... So if you could help me now, instead of doing whatever you’re doing I would appreciate it.”

Fair enough. He put mewman troubles to the side and sat down, mind already racing. What to do, what to do. The problem with planning as you went was that you always ended up on the spot.

Moon was watching him, wide eyed and innocent. All too likable a girl, but clever enough to be effective. On her own, she’d probably be a good queen. A bit ingenuous, perhaps, but all that would get her was assassinated, which wasn’t very useful.

“You are very honest, your highness,” he said slowly. “An admirable trait, in anyone else. But it might not be in your best interest to be so obvious in your intentions, as queen. Maintain a controlled public persona, as it were. Be more inscrutable, or risk becoming predictable.”

He could see cogs turning in her mind, before she schooled her expression into queenly stillness.

Force of arms had failed, as had cajoling and gentle manipulation. The warrior, the scholar, both had proven impossible to make any progress with. What he needed was someone desperate.

It seemed cruel, to try to break someone so young so utterly, but he’d resigned himself to cruelty long ago.

(As **She** had always said, dark magic was just a word other people used to try to discourage you.  
  


 

 

He told her stories, about brave and wise queens of the past who never let personal connections get in the way of ruling justly, who were unfathomable and absolute.

She told him stories, about her fussy aunt and cousins, her foolish father and stern mother. The goat-pig she rescued in the forest as a child and raised herself. Her friends, such as they were. She mistrusted most of the court besides a few of the more artless barbarians. She mistrusted them even more when he whispered tales of murder and intrigue in her ears. The princess who eloped, and disappointed her people so. The good Queen talked into evil by nefarious counsellors.

It was amazing how when you said “Trust no one” people heard “Trust no one but me”.  


 

 

“Aunt Etheria love playing Flags,” she complained one day, flipping through the book in her lap. She insisted on dragging them down from the royal library sometimes, showing him pictures and looking for second opinions on whatever she was read. He only had to hope she never made too many connections. He’d been so careful to keep a low profile, it would be terrible to have it ruined just because some historian was too keen for their own good. “But I don’t, it seems so loud and messy.”

“So tell her to stop,” he shrugged.

Moon was aghast. “I can’t do that!”

“You are the princess, aren’t you? First in line to the throne?”  
  
“Yes… but she’s my aunt. And it would upset her.” She was so devastatingly grave in the face of the idea that she might, possibly, disappoint someone. In her defense, her aunt was her successor, so from a purely political standpoint getting on her bad side was a questionable move, but he somehow doubted that was what she was worried about.

He modulated his tone, pulled it down from the condescension that came easily and into something more coaxing. “You can either order her to stop, or continue watching everyone else engage in something you don’t enjoy. Either is acceptable. I mean, it’s not like you’re off tussling with courtiers, is it?”

The princess was suspiciously silent and he resisted the urge to groan.

“You’ve been playing a game you don’t enjoy, for the sake of impressing a relative you do not particularly like, is that it?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she protested, “It’s- it’s diplomacy.”

“Diplomacy is about demonstrating strength. All you’re doing is giving in. I’m but an observer, but in my opinion the least you should do is remove yourself from the game, if you dislike it so much.”

She shot to her feet, book in arms. “I won’t,” she informed him, “You’re smart, but you don’t understand, nobody understands,” she flounced out with only a cursory goodbye, to his astonishment.

Perhaps she was a little stronger than he’d anticipated. He’d have to make extra allowance for that. Teenage stubbornness was not a variable to be discounted.  


 

 

 

She returned the next day, and the incident was quickly overlooked in favour of more pressing concerns, like what the best way to handle assassination attempts was (there were several in his opinion, depending on the exact details of the situation), and how to make the best impression on her fourteenth birthday.

(“I’ve already had the wand for a while,” she confided, “I wanted to be prepared, and Mother wasn’t using it, so the ceremony is just a formality. But I still want it to be a good formality.”  
  
“Very wise,” he told her. “Tradition is the foundation of monarchy.”)

“I want to be a good queen, who protects the kingdom and keeps the monsters at bay, who makes Mewni proud,” she said with youthful earnesty.

He tried not to react to that little royal proclamation, but she was a smart young woman.

The next day she asked quietly, “You are a monster, aren’t you? Not just a stranger. You know this place, you love it. You’re from here, that's why you keep coming back.”

“I don’t mind,” she assured him after a short pause. “You aren’t like any other monsters I’ve met in the woods, with River.”

“That’s… very flattering,” he managed. “Your highness is too kind.”

 

 

 

(He made a habit of disappearing on Mewnipendence Day. Sometimes you had to draw _a line_.)  


 

 

 

“I’m going to marry River,” she informed him, a few days before her fifteenth birthday. “He doesn’t know yet, but I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“If that’s what you want,” he agreed, but she seemed to be looking for more than that.

“I like him,” she insisted. “He’s nice. He doesn’t lie. I know he doesn’t want anything out of me, he won’t betray me.”

Poor River Johansen, future king to be, wasn’t a very bright young man if her stories were any indication. A slightly bullheaded warrior from one of the more barbarous mountain clans, where sense got knocked out of children at a young age and replaced with simple, good natured aggression. Admittedly dumb muscle wasn’t the usual expectation for kings of Mewni, traditionally they tended to be more foppish and useless, but she could probably get away with it. She seemed to have a minor complex about the usual courtly lords and princes anyway. Something about a previous bad encounter.

“I can make myself love him,” Moon added defensively.

“I’m sure you can. He seems a wonderful choice,” he said, forcing a smile. “Someone who will never knowingly betray you. If I might add one word of advice....”

“Of course,” she agreed.

“Remember to keep your own counsel, and do not grow too weak. A king might be useful, but it is the queen who rules. A foolish king left to his own devices can be dangerous to the entire kingdom. Remember yourself, princess.”

She nodded. “I will. I’ve never been stupid about boys. They’re just trouble. Aunt Etheria says that will change after Mewberty but I’m not sure she’s right.” There was a note of pride in her voice, a certain satisfaction with her own self control in the face of the silliness lesser beings engaged in. There was concern as well.

Mewberty was a natural disaster in microcosm, there was no way around it, so rather than lie and be disproven later he made a vague sound, and moved the topic to other subjects. He had a reign to sabotage and she was still far too evenhanded and forgiving. 

 

 

 

 

He could see the cracks, little fault lines in perfection. A little more stress, a little less faith in those around her… he tried not to be too sanguine, tried not to count his eggs before they hatched, but it was difficult to remain detached when so much was on the line.

It would work, it had to work.

In the meantime, he started poking some old connections. It always paid to have an army in reserve and he’d need some final blow, to make it all _work_.

 

 

 

 

“Princess,” he said, not turning around as she entered. “It’s been weeks. Eventful weeks, apparently. I don’t want to pry, but I do hear stories.”

“What kind of stories?” she said, just a little panicked.

“According to the… less hysterical reports, you went into the mewberty fugue and kidnapped twelve townsboys and stuck three pages and your aunt to the top of a tower before your mother came and got you to calm down.” he ventured a glance over his shoulder and found her wearing a new dress. Blue suited her better.

“Four.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It was four boys. And River, but I didn’t actually have to kidnap him. He was already in my armchair, and he didn’t put up a fight about being glued to it.” Her expression was somewhere in between sheepish and resigned, drifting closer to resignation ever second.

“Probably for the best, under the circumstances,” he told her gently, going to sit next to her in what passed for a chair by cave decor standards. “Any lessons learned from that little episode?”

Moon floundered for an instant, before her back straightened and she looked him dead in the eyes.

“I learned that boys don’t run very fast.”

He tried not to like her, he really did. But sometimes it was difficult. Somewhere, hidden under Butterfly birthmarks, mindless devotion, and childish eagerness, there was a glimmer of potential.

 

 

 

 

 

She told him about Glossaryck all in a rush, on a summer day when she was seventeen. He was supposed to be a family secret, she admitted, or not a secret, but not something you told anyone. But it seemed ridiculous to keep hiding the truth from him. She trusted him, after all.

It was a sweet little admission, or would have been if he hadn’t already known all of it. He feigned surprise, talked her out of introducing the two of them (the little blue man's memory was long), and then listened sympathetically as she bemoaned her mentor’s eccentricity and tendency towards the bizarre.

“He says he’s teaching me as fast as he can, but I’m not sure he is,” she said. “I need to learn faster, I need to… I need to do better.”

Reassurance would be useless, even if he was inclined to give it. He knew the gnawing drive that ate you up whole, the need to succeed at the impossible. He knew it would drive most people to madness, given time

“Why don’t you tell me about your work with those spells again, the transfiguration ones?” he suggested. “Work will get your mind off of it.”

 

 

 

 

 

She was powerful and disciplined, which wasn’t exactly in his favor. She was also a gentle soul by nature, and by his calculations about two steps away from a nervous breakdown. It was hard to tell, she’d taken his advice about inscrutability to heart, but surely no child could hold up forever.

He had his warriors, growing more anxious by the day.

He just need the ball to drop.

In time, it did.  


 

 

 

 

She came to him midwinter, stunned and shaking, and he knew before she even spoke.

_Long live the queen._

“She wasn’t a very good mother.” she mumbled. “I mean, she tried to be but she never came to ask me how my day was or remind me to study or anything. She never helped me when I needed to know what to do or how to deal with people. I had to do that by myself. Was she a good queen, at least?”

Queen Asteria would be remembered as The Stern on her official tapestry, Moon had told him as much. In practice, The Cruel might have been more accurate. She’d managed a lot of tax hikes for a woman who had spent most of the past few decades bedridden. There’d been the brutal crackdown on the giants early in her reign, then the mudmen when they had the temerity to rise up a few years before. The attention she’d apparently denied her daughter hadn’t done her realm much good.

“She was… uncompromising.” he said, “She never did anything in half measures.”

Moon- Queen Moon- muffled a sob. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she confessed.

His heart skipped a beat in his chest. The air seemed electric.

“What if you didn’t have to?”

  


 

 

 

(She rejected it, the very concept of it. Not that he expected any better- hoped perhaps, but not expected. At the core of the royal family was self preservation, and only a few things could override that.)  
  
(It didn’t matter. He had a backup plan.)

(Relatives, moderately estranged. Kingdom, resentful. Queen-regnant, devastated.)

(Duty had its downsides. She’d do anything for her kingdom, if he could just manage to endanger it. She didn't have anything else.)

 

 

 

 

 

The girl who met him on the battlefield was not shattered, was not shaking. She matched him blow for blow, magic winning easily over steel, as it always had. 

(This was not how it was supposed to go.)

Betrayal was always a special kind of wound and yet it seemed to have only enraged her. The terror that should have been there- would have been there for any sane being- was notably absent. 

(He really had to stop predicating his plans on Butterfly's reacting normally.)

"I asked Glossaryck!" she shouted, fury and vengeance, like her ancestors at their best. "He told me! He told me about you. How could you?"

His tail would grow back, but without it he was thrown off balance, stumbling like a child. 

Her victory was a given by that point.

He didn't bother with explanations, not when they'd fall on deaf ears. 

It had been years since he’d seen a queen of Mewni at her full power. Every time he wonders how he could ever forget something so terrible, and yet every time it shocks him again.  


 

 

 

 

It’s possible, just possible, that he shouldn’t have ever made a plan that fell apart if the target took his advice _too_  seriously, learned from him _too_ well. 

It also possible he should have realized sooner that all he was doing was making her like him.

It’s entirely probable that he should have moved more slowly, not shown his hand so soon. He needs some less abstract leverage next time, some more direct threat. Something that wouldn't just make the Queen of Mewni- force of nature that she is and always has been- resort back to brute strength and heart first action.

It was his mistake, really, trying to make someone like that afraid.

(It seemed his fatal flaw was forgetting that the helpless children he saw were not truly helpless at all.)

He stumbled off the battlefield clutching his hand to his chest, shocked to silence but already planning.

Next time, he’d start earlier. Next time, there would be no mistakes. Next time… next time...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(He picks himself up, dusts himself off. Begins again.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was such a Stress Write, because SvTFOE has been my stress watch for these last few weeks. I made a post to this general effect on my personal blog a week ago but it needed to be in fic format too, even if it did turn out a little muddled.I just, really like weird messed up mentor relationships and backstory and young women struggling with power and then proving themselves so much stronger than people expected. 
> 
> In other news, I have a writing blog on tumblr now.


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